Hey Lucy
by insert-original-name-here
Summary: Oneshot. Lucy Weasley has committed suicide and Scorpius Malfoy contemplates her, his life, and what fault he had in it. Sorry, it's an awful summary. Kind of a songfic. I think. If I'm right about what a songfic is.


**A/N **- **Hey, this might not be very good, but it's been floating around in my head for a while and I had an urge to write it. I think it's kind of a songfic from _Hey Lucy_ by Skillet. Possibly.**

**If anyone's reading them, I am still writing my other things (I know I haven't written anything for ages. I'll try to get something up soon)**

**Disclaimer - Harry Potter and all that belong to JK Rowling, who is not me.**

Lucy. Lucy Lucy Lucy. Your name rolls off my tongue Lucy. Too easily. It hangs, threatening, everywhere and I curse myself every time I say it. I curse myself for not choking on it, not bursting into fits of tears, because if I don't, surely I'm not feeling the pain? But I do have the pain Lucy. It's there. Thinking your name makes me choke, though I can say it with all my damned calm. I should be in turmoil Lucy. I am the pain, but it won't come out. Inside, there's chaos. But outside I'm lost. All the pain's gone inside, Lucy.

But I was always lost wasn't I, Lucy? I was nowhere, in limbo with you – and with Rose. But before that I was lost, afterwards I'm lost. I was nowhere with you. But now I'm everywhere. My new, cursed limbo reaches out to everything. And that's worse Lucy. Did you know I was lost from the start, Lucy? I never realised. I was lost from the moment I was born, the moment I attached myself to my notorious name, even when I thought I could counter it, maybe I knew. But that doesn't matter anymore Lucy. Nothing matters. Did you realise I was lost? Maybe I did, really. Maybe I just didn't want to accept it. Maybe I knew I was lost from the moment that hat sat on my head. But what do you do, Lucy, when the first letter you have to send to your parents is an apology. Because when the hat sits there and declares, with all the insolence and supremacy of an enchanted accessory in full, confident knowledge that it controls your fate, when it sits and declares that you're a Hufflepuff, that's what you do. If you're a Malfoy. But then what? What do you do then, Lucy? When one half of the school twists your surname into a vicious insult and the other half refuses to honour you with it. What do you do? When you can be walking down a corridor, James Potter telling you that you might as well sign up as a Death Eater now and get it over with, then you open a door to Kurtis Zabini denouncing you as a worse blood traitor than the Weasleys. What do you do?

But I'm being selfish Lucy. Like I always am – or that's what they say. Maybe it's true.

You're dead Lucy – I'm just dead to the world. Maybe that's bad enough, but I ruined you. And I'm only talking about me. I should be talking about you Lucy. But when I do I only say stupid things. Like 'you're dead Lucy'. You are dead. That's true. But nobody just says that. Only selfish fools. Death Eaters, blood traitors. Fools like me.

I should be talking about you Lucy. You deserve it. But I didn't really know you. Because I was a fool. A Death Eater, a blood traitor. You were always there and I didn't think to talk, not properly. I thought I knew you Lucy, but I didn't. Even now I don't think about you properly. Not about how you feel – if you _do_ feel when you're dead. You're a Weasley Lucy – better than me. You're a Hufflepuff – so I tell you I was sorry I became one. I complain about your cousin, call you a blood traitor. I'm sorry Lucy. And I wish the tears would come. I'm sorry.

What do you do Lucy? Of course you don't know. I'm stupid, selfish, insolent to be asking you. I'm a Death Eater, a blood traitor. You had your own life, now I'm asking you to sort out mine. Maybe I should have helped you. Maybe I'm too selfish – so they say. It's probably true.

I know what I did anyway, Lucy. So do you. I needed to escape. So I waded out to sea. I found a rock. I know I found a rock; I know that now and I knew it then. But I was wrong then. More wrong than ever – although of course, 'wrong' is always there, just like 'lost'. I found your cousin, Lucy. Your other one. Rose. She was beautiful, strong. She was my protection.

_(I brought you some flowers, Lucy. But they were stupid. They were roses. They were supposed to show you that you were everything she was. But they don't. They're hollow. They only show that I'm thinking about her, Lucy. That she's still on my mind.)_

She was my rock. That's what I thought. I clung to her – metaphorically, of course. She kept it all away from me. Of course it was still there, somewhere. I was still a Hufflepuff, a Malfoy, a Death Eater, a blood traitor. But it didn't come near me anymore.

I had found my limbo Lucy. Nothing came to my limbo, none of the problems. But you were there Lucy. And I made assumptions. Foolish assumptions. Stupid, ignorant, selfish. I thought you were like me, hiding behind the rock. But you were better than me Lucy, better even than Rose; you _were_ the rock. You were strong, solid, dependable. Did I realise, Lucy? Maybe I did. Maybe I just needed to look deeper, one shade further.

_(I scatter the roses Lucy. They were primitive, childish, stupid. You're not her. I never wanted you to be her. Never, Lucy.)_

Rose was strong too. Of course she was. She kept the dangers out – the sea does that. Blocks the dangers of the land. She was the strong, wild sea. But the sea is dangerous itself, Lucy. The drowned man can't live in the sea. He needs something to cling to – metaphorically of course. I did cling to Rose, Lucy, but she slipped through me every time: I didn't realise, but she was the sea. Of course she slipped away. I clung to you too Lucy: I didn't realise but otherwise I would have been lost – but then I already was lost, in my limbo. You kept me from losing my limbo. The drowned man needs the rock, or he'll drown again Lucy.

I was stupid wasn't I Lucy? A Death Eater, a blood traitor. Too bloody self-absorbed to tell the difference between the sea and the rock, between the rock and a drowned girl – That's what they think. I know it Maybe it's true; maybe I was just too lost, wrong, drowned.

I loved Rose, Lucy. You loved her too – _I _loved _you_ too. I just didn't know. You loved her and I loved her. The sea protects the drowned man from the horrors of the land. From the Hufflepuff, the Malfoy, the Death Eater, the blood traitor, from the person he should be. It protects the rock too Lucy, so the horrors of the land can't get to it – though the rock is strong, it may weather them. The rock is solid, it protects the drowned man; the sea protects the drowned man. The drowned man is weak, lost.

The sea protects the rock, Lucy. Rose is strong, wild. She protected us all. But the sea also wears the rock, weathers the rock. Barely noticeable, yes. But if you give it enough time, the rock will crumble to floating sediment. The sea is its blessing and its curse.

_(Maybe you'll need the roses Lucy. They are your blessing. They protected you – and me. But you're stronger now. The sea can't curse you.)_

_No!_ That's not true Lucy. I shouldn't have said that Lucy. See how stupid I am? How ignorant. How selfish. I'm cursing your cousins Lucy, when they loved your more than anyone. They suffer more than anyone. _I made it sound like Rose was to blame for your death Lucy_. But she's not. I am – that's what they say. They're right. It wasn't Rose's fault Lucy. She feels like it was sometimes, I think. She gets sad, gets angry. I don't talk to her much anymore, of course – I caused her cousin to die. She'll tell you that – Albus said it's just so she won't think it's her fault, but I know it's true. It was my fault Lucy. Becuase I'm the Malfoy, the Hufflepuff, the blood traitor, the Death Eater.

I ignored you Lucy. I didn't realise I did, but I thought I knew you. Me, and you and Rose. I talked to you both, your other cousins too sometimes. She was the rock – I thought. So you were just another drowned person. I didn't realise you were anything more until you were nearly lost.

The land had worn you down Lucy. The rock in the sea was protected, but it was still worn.

_(Was it worn by the sea Lucy? By the roses? I don't know. It wasn't Rose's fault Lucy)._

The rock was worn to sediment, but not by the sea. Not by Rose. I didn't realise, because I was too stupid, ignorant, too self-absorbed. The only thing holding it together was the clinging of the drowned man, the weakest of the three, the most desperate. And he didn't realise – the dimmest of the three, he clung without noticing, as he tried to hold on to the sea.

Then – then I killed you Lucy. I'm sorry.

Then the drowned man let go.

I had clung to Rose desperately, he was awed by the sea. So when the sea reached out and kissed me, I was lost. Truly lost this time. I let go of the rock – my limbo, where I was safe.

Suddenly I was held by the sea – not behind it in my limbo – and the sea is everywhere. I was the Malfoy again, the Hufflepuff, the blood traitor, the Death Eater. The drowned man was tossed through them all.

The rock crumbled. I saw you. Now you were nearly lost and only now did I realise – I realised what you were. I realised the drowned man's importance. And I'd failed you. I tried to swim back to the rock, but the sea was so strong, so beautiful. Rose didn't realise. It wasn't her fault. I couldn't save you – or maybe I _wouldn't_. That's what they say. Are they right Lucy? I'm lost without you.

I've been kissed by the sea Lucy.

_(I nearly laughed then. See how insensitive I am? Should I get the roses back Lucy? Should I link the sea and the rock back? Because the sea fixes rocks. Over time it can remake them from the crumbled sediment.)_

It's not funny – because you're dead. But the sea kissed me. Now I really _should_ be drowned. I should _truly _be the weak, drowned man. Because the sea kissed me, got inside me. _I_ should be the dead one. But I'm not. I kept trying to swim back to the rock, but I couldn't. I was weak. Inside, I had drowned. I was the blood traitor Malfoy, the Death Eater Hufflepuff. He wasn't the drowned man from before. He didn't know the rock. Only the sea knew him. But it _wasn't her fault_ Lucy. It was my fault – I am a Death Eater, a blood traitor. That's what they say. And I know they're right Lucy. Because I left the rock alone. And two weeks later she had allowed herself to crumble fully.

I killed you Lucy.

I'm sorry.

I never realised.

But it was my fault.

I should go back now. Back home. I should go back to Harry Potter's garage – Harry Potter. He doesn't think it was my fault. He can't, or he wouldn't have approached me to tell me I could floo powder here via his garage. Rose does though. The sea doesn't want the drowned man. He's gone back to the land. But I should go back. I don't want to, Lucy. I should stay here; the sea kissed me. _I _should be the dead one. But I left my father's dinner party, and I'll be missed.

That doesn't matter of course. Not to me. Not to you.

But father will pretend to care. He'll ask where I've been, chide me for leaving. But only for the sake of protocol and tradition. He won't care when I don't answer. Maybe he'll ask me later what was wrong, but he doesn't know how to sort it out. So I won't tell him. And he won't care. Or he'll pretend not to.

But of course, it doesn't really matter. I should stay. _I _should be dead.

Grandfather _will _care. He'll scowl and sniff at the 'falling standards'. But he won't say anything. He rarely does.

Maybe I _should_ stay. They don't understand how you've suffered, how the rock crumbled. How the drowned man failed you.

Pansy Parkinson and her gaggle of daughters won't care. Not really – and if they do, it shouldn't be anything to me. They'll titter behind their hands at the soggy dirt caking my knees, the leaves stuck to it and in my hair. But they won't care. Not really.

They don't care about you – of course they don't. They don't care that you're dead, and they don't care that I _should _be staying here. Dead.

Mother _will _care. Grandmother too. Grandmother will say nothing though, just share a worried look with Mother and leave. Mother will ask me what's wrong. For weeks afterwards. But _she_ can't help either. She can't save you – any more than I did. And she'll never talk about it in public. Because we're Malfoys. None of us show weakness. Except me.

None of them truly understands. That sounds stupid, childish – like me – but it's true. They don't understand how I failed you. Killed you. How I should join you but won't make myself – let myself. I should stay with you. I will stay with you. Not properly of course, but I'll stay here. You understand. Or you might. Maybe you realise how I curse myself, _why _I curse myself. How I'm so lost, so drowned, so – inherently _wrong._

Even now, I'm being selfish again. I sit at your grave and can only talk about myself. About Rose.

_(Do you want the roses back, Lucy? It wasn't her fault, but you are as strong as her, as beautiful. You are the rock Lucy. But I don't know about the roses. Are they stupid, childish, selfish? Should I put them back or leave them scattered?)_

I've picked up a rose, Lucy. But someone's coming now. I want to stay. I _should _stay. But I can't; your sister's coming, I can see her walking up, her coppery curls are drooping. She won't want me here, because I'm a Death Eater (a blood traitor).

I drop the rose and I run. The roses are still scattered, Lucy, but the tears finally start. The path is uphill, and longer when my vision's blurred. I'm sorry Lucy. I killed you.

I killed you Lucy.

I reach the end of the path. The gate's in front of me, and I can leave. But my body is mutinous. I don't want to, but I turn and look back.

_(There's a girl standing at your grave Lucy. Your sister. She's pretty, but not like you. She's assured, but not a rock like you were. You put up with so much Lucy. Your sister's there. She's not like you, but she's clever, older, she knows things, she understands things. And as I turn and look, the girl I never exchanged even a 'hello' with makes the decision that was lost to me – lost like me. The decision I couldn't fathom. The roses are crumpled, but she picks them up and arranges them, a gift from me, and from her.)_

Before I can turn, your sister looks back up at me and half-raises her hand in greeting, in shared grief. Surely that's wrong though Lucy. She won't want to greet me. I'm a Malfoy (and a Hufflepuff). I'm a Death Eater (and a blood traitor). She must have made a mistake, Lucy – for once. Because who would give that respect to the boy who killed her sister? Who would arrange the flowers of a Death Eater, a blood traitor – because that's what they say. And they must be right.

But maybe I'm not right. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm drowned, delusional, drunk on guilt. Or maybe your sister is talking to me, Lucy. Maybe she is saying that one word that I never thought she would say – because, surely, she's from the half of the school that always uses my last name, as an insult. Maybe she really did call a goodbye in forgiveness.

"Scorpius,"

**Yeah, so if you weren't put off and read it all the way you're probably bored of Scorpius calling himself a blood traitor and a Death Eater and all that, and it might not make much sense - it seems to make sense but that might only be because I know what I'm talking about and I'm crazy - but oh well. I have literally no idea how good this is :)**


End file.
